


Doctari Alpha

by PrairieDawn



Series: The Importance of Choosing the Right Pediatrician [6]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Autistic Spock, Child Spock - Freeform, Child Sybok, Doctari Alpha, F/M, Grayson Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Vomiting, death and destruction, secondhand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: Events surrounding the Klingon attack on Doctari Alpha in the AOS timeline (AOS Prairieverse).Sarek, Amanda and their family leave Doctari Alpha for a vacation on Mars prior to Sarek being assigned to the Vulcan Embassy on Earth for six months.  The Lorenzes join them, but the Burnhams choose to delay for a few days to view a supernova.Solomon (Sybok) and Malkie are eleven, Michael is eight, and Spock is four.





	1. The Last Perfect Day

“I have to practice my running skills!” Spock shouted, sprinting past Amanda on short legs on his third circuit of the meadow in which the playground was nestled among tall trees with flexible trunks that bowed before Doctari Alpha’s perpetual west winds like parentheses. He had grown into himself in the past year or so, growing out of his characteristic whisper and timidity before the always too much world around him. He was still small for his age, and still prone to unpredictable medical crises, but his intellect was sharp and curious, and more than once Amanda caught Sarek teetering between pride and exasperation as their young son, armed with nothing more than a thin metal edge, dissassembled yet another home appliance.

Both boys, or she might as well say all four children, as Malkie and Michael spent at least as much time in Sarek and Amanda’s home as in their own, grew fluent in both Federation Standard and the common Golish dialect of Vulcan, as had most of the colony children. There were several dozen of them crawling over the climbing frames and playing elaborate games out in the meadow. Malkie, Sol, and a couple of human girls sat under the shade of three of the trees, gesturing at a space in front of them. The oldest girl, Zenna, Amanda thought, seemed to be leading the group. Sol touched the back of her hand briefly, then after a beat, the remaining children startled, eyes fixed above and behind Zenna, who wore a smug grin. They all hunched over their datapads. One of their roleplaying games, she deduced.

“We have requested a ship to patrol the system, given recent sightings of Klingon ships,” Sarek said from his place beside her on the bench.

“ _Adun_ ,” Amanda said, “Are Klingon vessels on route to the colony as we speak?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Sarek admitted.

“Then no work talk. End of summer picnic rules.”

He fell silent again for a time, watching Spock circle back toward them again. Their youngest stopped before his father, then collapsed into a bean shaped pile at his feet. Such behavior would be alarming if he weren’t four. Spock rolled onto his back in the grass. “I am tired,” he said.

“A natural consequence of running,” Sarek paused to calculate, “0.87 kilometers.”

“0.89,” Spock disagreed.

Amanda stifled a grin. After a moment’s rest, Spock sprinted off again in the direction of a group gathering on the ball field. In response to some mysterious child-signal, the group assembled under the tree stowed their datapads. The girls jogged off in the direction of the ball field, leaving Sol to carry the bag of datapads back to Amanda on the bench. He folded himself neatly onto the ground. “Mother. Father.” 

“Son?” Amanda said.

“I wish to remain with the Lorenzes when you return to ShiKahr. I no longer belong on Vulcan.” The eleven year old held his impassive expression for his father’s benefit, Amanda supposed. He only feigned Vulcan emotional control when he wanted something very badly. “I will not be welcome at the Learning Center and I do not believe it is wise for Malkiah and me to be separated for long periods of time.”

“Most Vulcans bonded in childhood do not require such frequent contact.”

“I understand, father, but Malkiah and I are…” he trailed off. Amanda could see his desire to confine himself to Standard warring with his desire to explain himself clearly. “We need each other, father.”

“We will discuss the matter with Eli and Birdy while we are on Mars,” Amanda said, putting him off at least until she could speak privately with Sarek about his request. “Oh, that reminds me,” she added.. “The Burnhams will be three days behind us. Michael wants to watch the supernova when the light passes this way. It’s supposed to be spectacular.”

“Could we stay too, mother?”

“No,” Sarek said. “I have responsibilities at the embassy on Earth that I cannot delay.”

“Okay,” Sol said. Apparently that request was much more casual than the other. He stood fluidly and ran down to the field where the children were collecting. Amanda could just make out that some of them were holding staffs. Where had they gotten those?

She got up to check on the dinner proceedings, leaving Sarek to watch the children. Only Spock needed much watching, and that was mostly because of his habit of disappearing. Amy Burnham was fiddling with the controls for the portable cooler in which all the salads were lines up, including Amanda’s spinach, strawberry and almond go-to that she brought everywhere because she wanted her kids to eat something green instead of endless pasta. Amy pulled her into a half hug. “I’m looking forward to our Solar System Tour,” she said, capitalizing the words with her voice.

“Spock can’t stop talking about Utopia Planitia. He wants his own Sojourner. Sol is more interested in the historic landing sites.”

“You getting Spock a Sojourner?”

Amanda debated. “I don’t know. It would be another thing to bring back and forth all the time. And they’re not small. If we do, I was thinking of getting him the kit to build with Sarek.”

“That’s a great idea. Building things together is a great way to get to know somebody without having to talk too much.”

Amanda grinned. “That’s what I was thinking. What did you make?”

“Baba ganoush and pita triangles.”

“I love your baba ganoush. Would you like us to take any of your luggage on our ship?”

Amy shook her head. “You’re hitching a ride on a military ship. We’re taking a diplomatic courier. I think we’re getting a better deal. Sure you won’t stay?”

“Sarek’s on a tight timetable and I never get to see enough of him when we’re on Earth. Or Vulcan. I’m looking forward to the trip. You might check with Eli and Birdie though. If they stay back I’ll let Sol stay with them. He and Malkie might appreciate the supernova.” She squeaked as a torpedo smacked face first into her butt. “Careful!” she said, turning around to confirm that the torpedo was Spock and not another of the several butt-height children tearing about the park. “What are you doing?”

Spock looked up at her from under the visor of a bright yellow ball cap he had acquired since she last saw him. “I am hiding.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a snitch!” Amanda was about to explain that telling when someone else has done something dangerous or unkind did not make one a snitch when Spock squirmed between Amanda and Amy, ducking down on his haunches as Michael and Revan ran by, long sticks held between their legs like old fashioned hobby horses.

Amy smacked her head. “Not a snitch, Amanda. The Snitch.”

“The kids are playing Quidditch and my son is the Snitch,” Amanda said, incredulous. “I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that, as such.”

“He is fast,” Amy noted.

“And good at getting lost,” Amanda noted ruefully as the slight child burst out from between them and into a stand of bushes, heedless of sharp branches or prickers.

A moment later Michael returned, skipped past the buffet table to collect a handful of grapes and asked, casually. “Have you seen Spock?”

“I’m not helping you find him, Seeker,” Amanda chided. “And don’t nick off the table with your unwashed hands.”

*

The Lorenzes collected the children from where they lay, spent on the grass after a round and a half of Quidditch, at the end of which Sol had indeed had to be called in to locate his little brother. Spock had wandered a half klick away, shinnied up a tree, and fallen asleep. According to Sol, it was a good thing he had loud dreams. They never found the hat, which according to Doctari Alpha Quidditch rules, meant the game had not ended, as the hat, not the child wearing it, was technically the Snitch. 

With Spock awakened, retrieved, and changed into his spare clothes, Amanda was finally able to settle him at the end of the kids’ table with a selection of the six foods he was willing to eat this week. Sol, Malkie and Michael were heads together over a datapad, conspiring as usual. Between Vulcan physical development being slower than human, Malkie taking after her short, zaftig father in build, and Michael having stretched out long and skinny over the past year, they looked almost the same age, though Michael at eight was almost three years younger than the other two.

Amanda managed the double miracle of settling Sarek into a companionable selection of their Vulcan and human friends at the adults’ table and getting him into a lively discussion that didn’t have to do with the business of running the colony or intergalactic politics. She’d combined his two weaknesses, food and books, and they were all now embroiled in plans to create a colony cookbook featuring hybridized Vulcan and Earth cuisine influenced by the particular crops that grew well in the area.

“Jori, your split pea soup with caramelized onions must be included,” Sarek told the geologist seated across from him. Jori beamed, not least because Sarek’s deadpan expression and the fact that he had a reputation for avoiding flattery meant that the compliment was perceived as genuine. And well deserved, Amanda thought. Her addition of miso to the recipe kept it from tasting too bland for the omnivores among them without adding any actual meat. 

Birdie suggested Amanda’s home made hummus and Israeli salad. “It’s really Upstate New York salad with vulcan vegetables added in,” she protested.

“Then we’ll call it T’Amanda’s Schenectady Salad,” Eli said. Amanda only used the prefix during very formal occasions on Vulcan, but she supposed it would be a good way to honor the borrowed ingredients. “Oh, Amanda, Spock’s spilled on himself.”

Amanda hopped up. A little dirt didn’t bother Spock as much as it used to, but he’d spilled a bowl of half finished sherbet down his front and the combination of cold, wet, and sticky already had his eyes going huge and round while he held his suddenly tacky hands out, fingers spread so they wouldn’t touch each other. She scooped him off the picnic bench from behind, holding him out in front of her, and hurried to the bathroom to hose him off. He did not have a second set of spare clothes. She could feel him struggling for control even through his clothes; stickiness was his worst remaining sensory trigger. 

“Get it off, Mother!” he squealed, flapping his spread fingers as though he could shake the tackiness off. She stood him in the camp shower. He didn’t like the shower either because the ceramacrete floor was cold on his bare feet and it smelled faintly of algae. She stripped off his tunic and shorts in the camp shower and turned it on, checking the temperature against her outstretched arm while he was still out of range of the spray. He hesitated, clearly weighing the sound and feel of the shower, which he hated against the sticky wetness covering him, which he hated more. He stuck his arms out first to clean his hands, then babystepped his way under the water, face scrunched up miserably.

A slight sound behind her made her turn. Sarek stood a the door holding a very large T-shirt and a smaller, brightly colored bundle. “These are Jori’s son Aylan’s. The shirt may be used as a towel.”

“You are a lifesaver, Sarek,” she told him. He nodded curtly. She knew he found it difficult to understand his younger son’s sensitivities, but he also knew that confronting him about them while he was already upset was counterproductive. Spock dried and dressed himself, stopping to shake his hands and rub his nose a couple of times, then surprised her by saying, “I think I should meditate now.”

“I think that is an excellent idea.” She could feel Sarek’s pride wash over her. Spock was learning what he needed to do to cope.

Sarek approached his small son. “I will assist, if you wish.”

Amanda could see the gears turning, Spock wanting to demonstrate his independence, but also wanting attention from his busy father. “Yes, Father,” he said at last. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said. She turned back to the picnic tables, while Spock led Sarek to his favorite hide-and-meditate spot in the sand behind the climbing wall. Once she was far enough that they wouldn’t see her, she threw a triumphant fist into the air.

*

Pleasantly stuffed and less pleasantly plagued by the local equivalent to gnats, Sarek and Amanda lay on a camp blanket side by side, hands twined in the hollow behind Sarek’s back. Spock lay next to Amanda, raking the sky with his fingers as though he could bring the stars down. A knot of older children conferred quietly on the nearest blanket to theirs, Sol among them. Michael was pointing up to the sky with authority in the general direction of the soon to be visible supernova that would, when it arrived, light up the sky almost as bright as day.

“It will also briefly render long range scanners in that direction ineffective,” Sarek noted, having caught Amanda’s thought.

“Are you worried?”

“Vulcans do not worry,” he said. He squeezed her hand a little more tightly. What did he know that she didn’t? She felt his apology along with a redirection of their thoughts elsewhere, like placing a berm in a stream to change its course. Classified, she surmised. 

“Should I find a way to convince the Burnhams to come with us, supernova or no supernova?”

He didn’t answer for well over a minute. His fingers traced the back of her hand, pensive rather than sensual. “That might be wise.”

The stars weren’t so pretty anymore.


	2. Hurry Up and Wait...and Hurry Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting four people to the spaceport on time should not be such an adventure. But it always is.

**T minus Two Hours.**

Sarek liked to leave for the spaceport with thirty minutes to spare. No more, no less. Amanda felt that this produced in herself and the children a bad case of hurry-up-and-wait, as he also preferred that everyone be ready to go with at least an hour and a half to spare. He had been on the comlink with the colony’s mayor for the past thirty minutes. “Ashayam, I must meet with the head of colony security briefly before we go. Have the Burnhams elected to wait for the courier?” 

Amanda sighed. It was the third time this morning he’d asked. “So far as I know, yes.”

“Please speak to them again. Tell them…the children will miss traveling with Michael.”

“You want me to lie.” She let her disbelief creep into her tone.

“It is true that the children will miss Michael.” He walked out the front door to a waiting air car. He was not himself, and to say she was worried about his strange behavior would be an understatement. 

Amanda tapped her own com link. Amy Burnham answered. “Hey, Amy, Sarek wanted to know if you had changed your mind about waiting for the courier,” Amanda said.

There was a slightly too long pause at the other end. “What’s this about, Amanda?” The vid flipped on, revealing Amy in her gardening clothes.

Amanda repeated, “Sarek wanted me to tell you that Malkie and Sol will miss spending time with Michael while we are on our way to Mars.”

“Amanda, we’re not even packed.” She paused. “What’s going on? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She shook her head. “More like something Sarek’s not telling me. Something’s got him spooked.”

Amy walked away from the screen, then returned after a couple of minutes. “This may be just a diplomatic posting for you, but this is our home, Amanda. I’m not going to bug out just because Sarek is nervous. We’ll see you in three days, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll tell him I tried.”

“You do that. And enjoy your tiny little cabin on the Sun Tzu.”

Amanda stuck her tongue out at her friend, then ended the call. She walked into their bedroom. Sarek’s toiletries were still resting neatly on the sink. Had he gotten a second set? Had he been interrupted packing before the call from the mayor arrived? Which items did he want to take with him? She sighed, grabbed a bag, and made her best guess. Toothbrush and tooth cleanser. He used straight baking soda and she…didn’t. Hair straightener. Makeup and applicator wand. Hand lotion. Body soap. Toenail clippers? Yes, definitely. She checked the makeup kit for his eyebrow tweezers, musing that she had not realized when she married him that he would take longer to put his face on in the morning than she did. She hoped she had everything.

“Mom?”

“Mmhmm?”

Sol stood outside the bedroom door. “Are you sure Malkie and I can’t stay with the Burnhams?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why?”

She pulled Sol over to her. “Something’s not right. I don’t know what it is, but I trust your father. I can’t get the Burnhams to come with us, but I can keep you from staying here.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

*

**T-Minus One Hour.**

“Mom?”

“Yes, Sol?”

“Is this my bag?”

“Yes, Sol.”

“I’m going to Malkie’s house.”

“They already left for the spaceport, Sol.”

“Oh.”

Their luggage was piled on the couch, two bags for each of them, Sol’s easel and Spock’s swing and a vacuum bag full of bedding. It wasn’t like they were leaving forever. Probably. The colony was well established now, three years after they had started living here half time. The embassy wanted Sarek to start dividing his time between Earth and Vulcan more evenly. She had to admit to herself they might not be back here for long enough to maintain a household.

Spock, who had risen before dawn, announced his readiness for a nap by falling asleep, curled up into a ball so tight you might miss it if you weren’t looking. Sarek had not yet returned. Amanda commed him, but he didn’t answer. The meeting must be running long.

Sol flopped down on a chair and pulled out his datapad. “You might work on math,” she suggested.

“I might draw dinosaurs,” he countered.

He might as well. 

*

T-Minus 40 minutes.

Sarek was still not answering his comlink. Amanda dropped, a little theatrically, into the chair not occupied by Sol. The cushions poofed out beneath her. They were supposed to catch the shuttle to the Sun Tzu in thirty minutes. She left Sarek a final message. 

**Calling an aircar. Meet you there.**

She had left both boys on the couch, patiently awaiting their father’s return as though they were just two more pieces of luggage. Last she had checked, Spock was asleep and Sol was doing “schoolwork” on his datapad. She collected a last couple of items they’d need for the trip. I-Chaya had already been stowed in his own quarters aboard ship as they had finally arranged for an appropriate space for him at her mother’s place outside Schenectady.

She walked into the living room, Sol was still curled about his datapad, oblivious to his surroundings. The pile of luggage still sat around and on the couch. Spock was gone. “Spock? Where did you go?” she called, careful to keep her tone neutral. If he thought she was angry at him they’d have to use the life signs detector on a starship to find him. It was possible to find him that way because he was the only Human/Vulcan hybrid in existence. It was deeply mortifying that she knew it was possible. She baked a cake for the crew of the Taliesin after that particular escapade. 

“Spock?” He was not in the house. She hurried into the yard to check I-Chaya’s artificial cave. No luck. He might have gone down the hill to collect pretty rocks again. She did not have time for this. “Solomon!” she shouted.

Sol appeared at the door, datapad still in hand. “Again?”

“He was asleep right next to you. You didn’t notice him getting up?”

“You didn’t say I was supposed to be watching him.”

Amanda raised a silent prayer to whatever benevolent deities might be listening. “Any idea where he might be?”

Sol sucked in his bottom lip and looked up at the sky. She really ought to tell him that the face he made when he was consulting his telepathic little brother radar was silly looking. She really should. She probably also should erase the photo she had of him doing it. But she planned to embarrass him with it at some appropriate time in the future. Upon the birth of his first child, perhaps. “He’s at Michael’s. He was looking for I-Chaya.”

“Would you go retrieve him while I call an aircar to pick us up?”

Sol sagged, a ghost of teenage future he had picked up from Malkie. She had hoped they would stay cute kids for one more year, but no such luck. “Fiiiine.” He jogged off, leaving her to call the aircar.

*

**T Minus 20 minutes.**

The aircar was waiting outside. Amanda’s com chimed. She tapped her datapad.

“Mom?”

Sol’s face appeared on screen. “Spock’s going to need a change of clothes.”

“What happened?”

Sol declined to answer her question. “I’m going to put him in the bathtub here. Can you come get him?”

*

**T Minus 5 minutes.**

Amanda found Spock in the Burnhams’ bathroom, wearing one of Michael’s old t-shirts. She pulled off the shirt and tugged a tunic and underwear onto him. 

“Mommy?” Spock said. “I want to stay here. I do not like spaceships.” He did, in fact, like spaceships. Loved them in fact. What he did not like was transitions. Explaining that to him was fruitless, however. 

“Are you going to walk home with me and your brother now?”

“No.”

“Then Sol will carry you.”

Sol grumbled something unintelligible, but scooped Spock up to set him on his shoulders. “Don’t grab my hair, Spock,” he complained. Her datapad chimed halfway back to the house. It was Sarek.

“Why are you not at the spaceport?”

“It’s a long story. Starring your son.”

“Solomon?”

“Your other son.”

There was an overlong pause at the other end of the line. “Are you home?”

“Not yet. Getting there.”

“Please comm me as soon as you are home.”

*

**T plus ten minutes.**

Spock sat on the couch. Amanda sat on the couch next to him. Sol flopped on his chair. The comlink chimed again. Amanda answered it. “Yes…Sun Tzu. We’re so sorry, child related crisis. I guess we’ll have to wait for the next ship out after all.”

“We’re locked on to you. Prepare to beam up.”

Her vision clouded over briefly, filled with yellow stars, and then she was sitting, still on her couch with all her luggage piled around her. Sol was still in the chair. The transporter tech smiled awkwardly. “I couldn’t separate your luggage from your furniture, so I just brought all of it.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said, brushing a limp lock of hair out of her eyes. “Just put it in the cargo hold.”

The engine sound changed and the floor did that little twitch that signaled the ship was going to warp. Spock slid down off his perch and sprinted for the transporter room door, bare feet slapping against the floor. She raced out the door after him. Bare feet. His shoes were still on the Burnhams’ bathroom floor. 

All things considered, leaving Doctari Alpha went better than leaving Earth six months ago.


	3. The End of All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek's worst fears about the Klingon threat are realized.

Their suite on the Sun Tzu had one queen sized bed and one pull out couch that was supposed to sleep two. Clearly, therefore, Sol would have the couch and Sarek and Amanda would take turns sleeping with Spock’s butt in their faces. Spock was spinning in the middle of the one patch of floor that measured more than a meter square. Sol had managed through what Amanda hoped were defensible means of cute ten year old persuasion to get a tour of Sickbay. She would have thought a kid his age would have preferred engineering or the bridge, but it did fit with his emerging interest in biology.

Sarek was off in another meeting, but promised to meet them in the mess for dinner, right about now in fact. “Spock, time to eat,” she said, pulling on her own shoes and forcibly reminded that her four year old didn’t have any. Spock stopped spinning and walked to her side without a fuss. “Bathroom first.”

“I don’t need to go to the bathroom.” He looked up at her with an imitation of the preteen defiance she’d started to see on Sol of late.

“I need you to go.”

Spock regarded her for a moment. She held his gaze for a count of five, then raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, Mother.” When he returned she gestured him out the door and to the turbolift. The hallways were filled with uniformed strangers, and Spock didn’t seem to know whether to be delighted or frightened. He kept her between himself and the other people in the hallway, running a knuckle along the wall for security but trying to hide the gesture with his body. They waited for the turbolift along with a human ensign, who waved at him. He offered a hesitant ta’al while peeking out from the safety of her skirt. The ensign returned it, and Spock bounced twice on his toes.

She waved them ahead of her into the turbolift. “Where are you headed?”

“Mess,” Amanda said.

“Thought so. I hear they’ve got fresh grapes today. Mess hall,” the ensign addressed the turbolift. It shifted into motion and Spock flattened himself against the wall, frightened by movement he could feel but not see.

The lift arrived in only a few seconds. Amanda collected Spock and followed the ensign down the hallway and into the mess hall. Sol and Malkie already had command of a table. Sol was telling some exaggerated story or other, gesturing with his fork. Amanda collected two trays, beans and rice with salsa for herself and a peanut butter sandwich and grapes for Spock. “How many pieces?” she asked him.

“Eleven,” he said, turning his innocent gaze on her. Four years old and he already knew that it was difficult to cut a sandwich into a prime number of pieces.

Well, he was supposed to be eating the sandwich with utensils. She cut it into thirds, and then into small rectangles. He stabbed the first with his fork and observed it briefly. She hoped he was not planning to declare the bread to be the wrong color. A fair number of younger officers chose to sit at tables near the children, probably reminded of their younger siblings. Sol and Malkie basked in the attention. Spock shrunk into her side. Today was a too much kind of a day already.

Sarek walked up behind her, took in the situation and scooped Spock onto his lap without comment. Amanda made space for him. Spock stabbed another sandwich square to nibble, but his eyes were no longer so wide and his death grip on his fork relaxed a little. “Klingon ships have been spotted in the area,” Sarek told Amanda. “At present, they appear to be merely patrolling.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“The Captain of the Sun Tzu assures me that they are capable of defending themselves.”

Amanda made herself finish her beans and rice and carried her tray back to the recycler. Sol followed, but returned to the table to stand beside the Chief Medical Officer until she had finished speaking, then said, “Thank you for the tour. It was very interesting.”

“Would you like to come back to the rec room for a while?” Another ensign, this one possibly still a teenager, said. He turned to Amanda. “We’ll keep an eye on him, bring him back around 2100 hours?”

She was about to say no, but their suite was so small and relatively devoid of activities. And the young man had volunteered. “All right. Sol, listen to the adults, and don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“I know, mom.”

“See you at 2100 hours. Sharp.”

He and Malkie left with their new friends. Amanda collected another plate of beans and rice for Sarek. “Are you sure it is wise to allow Solomon to spend time in the company of these people?” Sarek said.

“Human people?”

“Rowdy young people,” Sarek corrected. 

“Starfleet officers,” Birdie noted from her spot at a nearby table.

“Precisely my point.”

Birdie continued, “They’ve been very kind and entirely appropriate with the kids. Ensign Ruiz offered to teach them how to play pool. A very logical game, pool, and one that might improve Solomon’s math skills.” She played Sarek almost as well as Amanda did.

Sarek had a look on his face that suggested that he lacked the energy to argue. “I will see you this evening, Amanda. I have been asked to make some additional calls and will do so in the conference room where I will not disturb you and Spock.” He passed Spock back to Amanda, who indulged him by settling him on her hip, even though he was really too old to be carried. She would have liked to spend some time in the rec room, but it was clear Spock had had all the excitement he could handle for one day.

*

Amanda took Spock back to their suite and put on some soft music. He crawled onto the bed, not ready for sleep, but needing attention and a quiet activity to occupy him until bedtime. He worked on a puzzle until it became too frustrating, then he crawled around the suite collecting all the puzzle pieces he’d thrown around the room while he was expressing his frustration, then he counted all of the puzzle pieces to make sure they all got back in the bag. Then he poured them all out on to the bed, sorted them by shape, and counted them again. That killed half an hour. Amanda read to him for a while, then finally gave in and let him work through the educational activities on his datapad. A sonic shower, brushed teeth and another fifteen minutes of The Phantom Tollbooth later, he was sprawled across the queen sized bed, managing to take up almost the entire bed by lying sideways, spread out like a preschooler starfish.

Amanda stretched out on the couch to wait for Sarek and Solomon. Her favorite author had posted another chapter of her latest book. Cheered, she tapped it up on her data pad and started to read the slow burn romance between the underwater archaeologist and the interplanetary spy. She had just finished the chapter when Spock sat up in bed and started wheezing.

Her first thought, quickly stifled, was halfway between worry and annoyance. She had hoped they were through his latest batch of medical crises. She set down her pad and hurried over to the bed, where Spock lay curled in a ball with his arms over his head. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Spock?”

“Scared!”

So, not physical. At least, probably not physical. A yellow light flashed on a panel by the door. She consulted a panel beneath it, on which a legend for passengers was printed. Yellow light meant yellow alert, of course. In a yellow alert, passengers were expected to confine themselves to quarters, not leaving without the permission of an officer. She returned to Spock’s side. “May I pick you up?”

He nodded. “I want Sol.” He started to cry in earnest.

She scooped him into her arms. “Not sa-mekh?” Scared wasn’t the half of it. The flash of just-woke-from-a-nightmare terror was powerful enough to make her heart jump in her chest, and it did not fade like a nightmare, but continued, if anything getting stronger by the second. Her heart raced in response. He rubbed his head from side to side across her blouse, wiping his runny nose on her. His fingers grabbed hard at her shoulders, pinching through the fabric.

“Why are you scared?”

He looked at her like she had asked him to solve a warp field equation, then buried his face in her chest. She took a moment to deliberately slow her breathing, then tapped the three digit code for Sickbay into the room’s comlink. “Sickbay, Nurse Wiley here.”

“This is Amanda Grayson. My son is experiencing some disturbing symptoms. I’d like to have him seen right away.”

“We have your son already. Ensign Pauli brought him in from the rec room. We were about to call you.”

“I’m talking about my other son. What’s wrong with Sol?” 

“Either asthma or a panic attack. I’m banking on panic attack.”

An idea occurred to Amanda. “Spock. Are you scared or is it somebody else?” Spock burrowed further into her chest without answering. “Nurse Wiley, where is my husband?”

“Ambassador Sarek is on the bridge.”

“Have him meet me in Sickbay if he can be spared. Do I need to wait for an escort?”

“Someone from security will meet you at your door.”

Amanda left the link open in case there were further instructions. She concentrated again on her own breathing, but it was difficult with Spock’s grabby little mind pouring his distress into her. She had to be the stronger influence or they would create a feedback loop of fear. Fortunately, she’d been taking instruction not only from Sarek, but from T’Zir, and was able to direct calm into him. It was swallowed up like a bucket of fresh water into the sea.

“Lady Amanda?”

She blinked, swaying, and saw a security officer, complete with sidearm at the door. He took her elbow to steady her. “Are you ill, ma’am?”

“I’m all right,” she assured him. “Spock is upset about something.”

“Upset?” He wrinkled his brow in annoyance.

“Not normal little boy upset. Something’s wrong with him.”

The security officer shrugged. “Right this way, Lady Amanda.” 

When they arrived, she found Solomon sitting on the edge of a biobed, head down, hands braced on his knees. “Mother,” he said without looking up. An emesis basin sat beside him, so far unused.

“Sol!” Spock shouted.

“Give him to me, Mother,” Sol said.

“Promise me you won’t both shut down on me. We need to know what’s wrong.”

He nodded, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, then he flinched, violently, took a deep, shuddering breath and reached for the emesis basin. She resisted the urge to gather back his long curls, not knowing whether the touch would help or make matters worse. “No nononono…” he whispered.

The door to sickbay slid open again to admit Malkie at a barreling run. She leapt onto the biobed and wrapped both arms around Sol, squeezing tight. She was already crying. Amanda looked around the room to find the two medics on duty, both of whom were silently staring at her children. “Would somebody tell me what’s going on?” she shouted.

Birdie, jogging into Sickbay a few steps behind her daughter, enveloped Amanda into a rib crushing hug. “The Sun Tzu received a distress call from Doctari Alpha. They’re under attack.”

*

The Sun Tzu raced back toward Doctari Alpha. They would be the first ship on scene, but there were two other ships, one Starfleet, one VES, that would arrive shortly after the Sun Tzu. They were ten hours out at a normal cruising pace, which meant about three and a half hours back at the highest warp the engineer could manage. The kids had been relocated to the sickbay floor, the reasoning being that they were unlikely to fall off it. She and Doctor Simriti took turns offering sips of gatorade to the kids, all of whom, including Malkie, had thrown up at least once. The job of handling the kids directly fell to Amanda, Birdie, and Eli, as Doctor Simriti’s otherwise comprehensive medical experience had not extended to any training in shielding her mind. An oversight in Starfleet’s training program in Amanda’s opinion, but one that probably merely stemmed from a shortage of competent teachers. She had not thought she would ever need to learn how to insert an IV. Now she knew how.

Every now and then Sol would cry out again, and when he recovered enough to speak, would whisper another name for Amanda to add to the list she was keeping on her data pad. Sol was gregarious and extraordinarily gifted and held familial links with at least sixty people on Doctari Alpha. Sixteen of whom he had already confirmed as having died.

The door to Sickbay slid open, admitting her husband at last. He spared a glance for the children curled up together on the floor and turned to her. “Jeff Burnham is dead.” Amanda extended her fingers to him, but he clasped her whole hand tightly and pulled her into his embrace, his grief adding to her own. When he pulled away, she handed him the data pad with its list of names. He read silently down it, then handed it back to her and knelt by his children. His hand rested on Spock’s face first. After a moment, he untangled Spock from Sol and Malkie’s embrace, taking care not to disturb the lines running into each child’s arm. “Spock is exhausted. He needs to be sedated. Stay with him, my wife.”

She took her little boy from her husband. Simriti prepared a hypo and pressed it into the back of Spock’s neck. “This sedative is a low grade psi inhibitor. He’ll still be able to derive comfort from you, but it should take the edge off the rest.” At Amanda’s dubious look, she added, “I’ve been in communication with Healer T’Yeht on the Geretaya. They’ll be about an hour behind us.”

Spock grew muzzy and limp in her arms. She settled herself onto a biobed to sit with him draped across her lap, still holding the data pad. Sol had listed Jeff already, about five minutes before Sarek came to Sickbay. Amy was still not on the list. Neither was Michael. Willing the ship to go faster would have no effect, much as she might hope it would. Sarek crossed the room to sit beside her. “I wish your counsel, my wife.”

“What is it?”

“Solomon is carrying active links to a few adults in the colony. He has provided intelligence we may be able to use when we arrive. However, he is also exhausted. I am concerned for his safety if he is allowed to remain conscious.”

“So, he may help us save a few lives if we let him stay awake. But he may be harmed if he’s not sedated.”

“Yes.”

“What does he want to do?”

“If we try to sedate him he will fight us.”

“Have Simriti keep monitoring him and Malkie and get advice from T’Yeht on the Geretaya.”

“I concur for the moment. Also, add the names Torukh, T’Vai, and Zenna Rhodes to your list.”

She tried, but her hands shook too much. Sarek took the pad and added them for her.

*

There was a brief respite, perhaps half an hour, then more names, one or two at a time. Amy Burnham died twenty minutes before they were to drop out of warp. She wrote the name down with the others. She heard padding footsteps and turned to see Malkie, pale and tearstreaked, a bottle of grape soda in her hands. “Sol can’t get up right now,” she told Amanda. But you need to tell Sarek and the Captain that he was the target.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They wanted Sarek. And the rest of you. They were interrogating Amy, trying to find out where you went. She didn’t tell them for a long time.”

“But she did tell them.”

“Uh huh.”

“How does he know this exactly?” She didn’t think Sol had a tight enough link with Amy to allow them to communicate anything concrete over this distance.

“Michael’s hiding. They haven’t found her yet.”

“And Sol’s with her?”

“Uh huh.”

Part of her was glad that Sol was able to provide some contact and comfort to Michael, but another part knew that it was only a matter of time before she was found and probably killed. And she couldn’t imagine what that was going to do to Sol. She pulled Malkie into a one armed hug, then turned to Simriti. “Did you hear?”

“Relaying it to the bridge.”

Sarek returned to Sickbay about a minute later. “The captain does not wish me to be visible when she contacts the Klingon ships,” he said.

“Amy’s dead,” she told him. When he moved to comfort her, she said, “No. Sol’s with Michael. They need you more right now.” Sarek nodded and left her to settle gracefully to the floor next to Sol and Malkie.

She felt the change in the vibration of the ship when they dropped out of warp. The yellow alert flashed over to red, and a klaxon rang out,the sound a nearly tactile assault. Spock tensed in her arms. Simriti gave him another dose of sedative, but told Amanda to stay with him, since it was almost certainly Michael he was catching backlash from as well. She paced near his bed, waiting for a sign that it was finally over, dreading it at the same time. Time stretched and compressed around her. The medical staff talked quietly amongst themselves, put drinks in her hands which she sipped obediently, ran medscanners over her husband and sons. She held her breath for an hour.

And then it was over.

Sickbay was first to receive the list of survivors. It was a very short list. Of the five hundred and fourteen colonists on Doctari Alpha, the survivors list had only twenty-two names on it. Michael’s wasn’t one of them.

She knelt beside her husband to rest her hand on his face the way he had on hers so many times. Closed her eyes against vertigo and fell. He drew her to himself. _When did we lose Michael?_ she asked him.

_We have not. She lives._

_She’s not on the survivors’ list._ She noted his confusion, he was scattered, wrapped around the wounded souls of his son and his son’s betrothed. _I will find her,_ she assured him, then backed out, kissing the top of his head before she stood.

A nurse caught her under the elbow when she stumbled. “Michael Burnham is alive down there somewhere. Probably in her home.”

“They’ve searched everywhere. They’d have seen life signs.”

“They must have missed her.” She jogged to the turbolift, Birdie on her heels. “Main transporter room,” she told it. The door opened on a corridor and she guessed which way to go, correctly as it happened. 

Six people materialized on the pad, two humans and four Vulcans, including a small boy she recognized as Sen. A medtech greeted them and ushered them past her. She didn’t have time to talk to them. The transporter tech turned to stare at her, wide eyed. “This is a restricted area, Lady Amanda, Ms. Lorenz. You would be safer in your quarters.”

“We’re going to the surface.”

“The hell you are, ma’am.”

“Michael Burnham is alive down there and we are going to find her,” Birdie said. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Look I’m sorry for your loss. It must be…I can’t imagine it. But if there were more survivors we’d have found them.”

Amanda drew herself up to her full height, which failed to be nearly as impressive as Birdie’s, walked over to a transporter pad, and waited for Birdie to join her. “If my son says Michael is alive, she is alive. And I will find her.”

“It’s…it’s not a fit place for civilians,” he tried one last time. Birdie glared at him on her way to the transporter pad.

“I am an ambassador’s wife and no civilian. Put us down, now.”

She dissolved into a shower of gold.


	4. Finding Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda and Birdie search the remains of the Doctari Alpha colony for Michael Burnham.

The gold sparkles of transport cleared, only to replaced by smoke and flame. A woman in protective gear ran up to Amanda and Birdie, shouting, “What are you doing down here? You need to get up to the ship with the other survivors!”

“Not without Michael Burnham,” Amanda said firmly with her last breath of ship air. She inhaled, and immediately her eyes began to water and she coughed, lungs full of the acrid chemical residue of burning plasteel and ceramacrete.

“Ma’am, there’s no one left alive. We’ve searched everywhere.” 

Birdie grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “There is an eight year old girl alive down here and we’re going to find her. Now shut up and get us some breathing apparatus.”

The woman stared up at Birdie, who certainly knew how to be tall at people when she needed to be, then ran a few yards to a silvery tent to speak to a pair of officers also outfitted in heavy duty uniforms and wearing face masks. She returned with two masks in hand. “Put these on. I’m Lieutenant Gua. Who are you and why did you beam down here?”

Amanda pulled on her mask before speaking. Best to be direct. “Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan’s wife. My son has a telepathic link to a child who was on the planet’s surface at the time of the attack. She is not listed among the survivors, but he would know if she died.”

The woman shook her head, her facial expression hard to read behind her mask. “Sounds like some kind of superstition to me. Nothing to risk your life over. This is not a safe place to be.”

“It’s even less safe Michael, then,” Birdie responded, her voice muffled slightly by the faceplate of the mask. “You’re not getting rid of us, so I’d suggest you help, and then we can get back to the ship that much faster.”

Lieutenant Gua took Birdie’s arm. “Lead on, then,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. Amanda picked her way through the remains of their home. And it really had been a home, even if it was only part time. She caught a glimpse of warped playground equipment through the billowing smoke. Her shoes were far less than ideal for picking through rubble. She debated taking them off after one stumble that left her ankle aching, but the ground was scorched and in some places hot enough to make the soles of her shoes shiny with incipient melt, and broken glass and plasteel littered the ground. It was hard to orient herself to the streets with the familiar landmarks distorted at best and missing at worst.

The town was small and compact to prevent undue damage to the planetary ecosystem and only had a few hundred inhabitants—she had to stop thinking about it for a moment, the flash of grief a physical heat in her chest, a burn from the inside. They wandered the wreckage for almost fifteen minutes, unable to find the Burnhams’ home.

“If there were life signs, we’d see them,” their guide insisted. “It’s time to go.”

“No. If she were dead, Sol would know.” She turned to the woman, trying to find the right words. “It’s not superstition or mysticism. My husband and son’s abilities are no less reliable than your eyes or ears, or this!” She grabbed the woman’s gloved hand and squeezed, hard.

“So then, let’s think this through. If she is here and alive, but she can’t be sensed, then her life signs must be blocked somehow,” Birdie said. “What did we have in the colony that would block sensors?”

“Does it matter what it was?” Amanda asked.

Their escort caught on. “Scan for regions of sensor opacity. Start in town, at ground level and report your findings as soon as you get them,” she said into her comlink.

They waited, surrounded by small fires, drifting smoke, and person sized lumps on the ground, covered with bright blue tarps that fluttered in a light breeze. Amanda turned to Birdie. “The shipping containers for the Vulcan bedding plants,” she said. “With the extra layer of rad shielding.”

Birdie nodded. “Jeff never could throw anything away. What did he make out of them?”

“That block of cabinets in the living room.”

“The game cabinet? I always thought that thing was an ugly piece of engineering, even for him.”

Their escort interrupted them. “Ship’s sensors detect and area of opacity 1.2 by 2.4 by 0.8 meters square 112 meters northeast of our position. If you will follow me.”

They picked their way as quickly as advisable, maybe a little more quickly until they came upon one of the more intact little houses. Most of the identifying features had been burned or blasted off, but once she approached the warped front door frame, the door missing, she could see on the ground a small clay plaque with a handprint pressed into it, broken in several pieces but still recognizable. She stepped inside, Birdie behind her.

A weighted blue tarp covered something—someone—just inside the door. She skirted around it to plant a foot in the broken glass that used to be a shell pink vase full of now-wilting flowers. The Burnhams’ belongings had been tossed about the room and left in piles. She could just see a flash of bright blue tarp through the doorway to the kitchen. She took another step, and their escort held up a hand to stop her. “You’re not dressed for all this glass,” she said.

Gua crossed the room, her heavy regulation boots crunching on the remnants of the Burnhams’ lives. The burnished silver cabinet dominated the back wall of the room, though it was partially obscured b a burgundy lace cover. Gua pulled the cabinet door open. It looked empty, but there was a segment of cabinet that had to be reached into, as Jeff, frustrated by the difficulty of cutting through the shielded material, had cut only one small door into the long, low cabinet. Gua reached back as far as she could, and pulled out a small, limp body.

Michael lolled against the officer, eyes half closed, lips tinged slightly blue. Her breath came in a faint rasp. Gua flipped her comlink. “Four to beam directly to sickbay. I have a survivor here in critical condition. Respiratory compromise.”

Amanda’s molecules dissolved.

They reappeared in Sickbay, which was crowded now with survivors from the colony. Doctor Simriti scooped Michael out of Gua’s arms and carried her away around a corner. She didn’t see the rest of her family anymore. A nurse took her and Birdie gently by the shoulders. “Right now we need to clear sickbay of all but critical patients and staff. I’m sorry,” she said, steering them toward the door.

It took the whole of Amanda’s self-control not to argue with the nurse. Where were her husband and children? She walked carefully through the hallway outside sickbay to ensure she didn’t step on anyone. Eli leaned against the wall, arms and legs crossed, face pointing at the floor. He looked up. “Did you find her?”

Birdie pulled him into a hug. “She’s with the doctors. Where’s Lala?”

“I left her with one of Sol’s new friends. She’s still fast asleep.” He pulled one arm away from Birdie to gather Amanda in, then walked with them both down the hall a little, away from the crowd. “Sarek is with the kids. Malkie and Spock are in serious condition, heavily sedated. Sol is critical. T’Yeht just arrived from the Geretaya to see if she can stabilize him and to…” he paused to take a breath and ended up collapsing back against the wall again, this time pressing his hands to his forehead and staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “To try to help Malkie survive the loss if she can’t.”

“Sarek?” she asked.

“Helping the Healers. Not that he’s in any condition, but you know him. They’ve got four broken marriage bonds to deal with.”

Amanda nodded. She fell back against the wall next to Eli and slowly slid down it until her knees were crushed up against her chest. “Sarek tried to warn us,” she mumbled into her hands.

“We all did the best we could,” Birdie told them. “You two stay here. You need a break, and don’t tell me you don’t Amanda, you’ve been doing the heavy lifting all day with the kids and as Sarek would remind you, your human brain isn’t wired for it. I’ve still got a little left in me so I’m going to see if they need me to help with first aid.”

Eli acknowledged her with a tired wave. “I ought to get up and help, too.”

Amanda grabbed at his hand and pulled him down to crouch beside her. “Stay, would you? I don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

Eli nodded. “I suppose now is not the time to remind you that disaster is not in my job description?”

“You’re a librarian and an English teacher, not a—whatever we’re trying to be now?”

“Exactly.” He dropped his head onto her shoulder.

Amanda let him stay, grateful for the not-quite-embrace. “Birdie’s not going to be jealous seeing us cuddled up like this, is she?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Eli’s chuckle turned into a sniffle half way through. “She knows you’re not my type. Sarek?’

“He knows me better than that, Eli. Sol’s tough. He’ll be…” she almost said okay, but didn’t think she could quite justify that level of optimism. “He’ll make it. And so will Michael.”

“And what about Michael? Do you know anything about the Burnhams’ plan B?”

Amanda thumped the back of her head against the wall a couple of times, not hard, just enough to make a sound. “We’re their plan B, Sarek and me. It’s all right, we’ll make room. Sarek and I had intended to have more children before it became clear it was going to be hard to get Spock through his childhood alive. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret having him for a minute.”

“It seems like once you have kids, all you do is worry about them.”

“Yeah.” It was more an abortive sigh than a word.

A nurse was walking toward the two of them. “T’Yeht wishes to see you,” she told Amanda. “You are Michael’s legal guardian, correct?”

Amanda hauled herself to her feet. “Yes, and Sarek.”

“Sarek has been required to rest.”

Amanda pursed her lips. “Had to knock him out, didn’t you.”

“T’Yeht insisted he enter a healing trance as soon as it was clear Solomon and Michael were stable.”

Amanda’s breath left her body in a whoosh. Stable. Sol would live. She scrubbed tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands, reached back, and pulled Eli to his feet. “I’ll check on Malkie and get back to you. Go take care of Lala. And get some rest if you can.”

He threw his arms around her in a tight, very human hug. “Call me,” he said. “Make Birdie take a break and give her my love.”

“I’ll do number two. I can’t promise number one.” She turned back to the nurse. “Lead on.”

The hallway had been largely cleared of walking wounded, so they made their way quickly back into Sickbay, where a slight, dark skinned Vulcan woman inclined her head in a brief greeting and led them through Sickbay and, oddly, out a back door and toward a cabin door. “We placed the children in a separate suite, for their protection. Fortunately, the Sun Tzu carries additional biobed panels.”

She keyed into the door, where her entire family, including Michael, lay scattered across the three biobeds and the floor. Sarek was propped in a corner crosslegged, clearly having fallen asleep while attempting to meditate. Adding to the crowding of the room was the great bulk of I-Chaya, his head propped on the bed nearest the viewport, snuffling at Spock’s feet.

The nurse crossed to Michael first where she lay on her own biobed, tucked under a warming blanket. “Michael suffered hypoxia and lung damage due to her proximity to the fire and hypoglycemic damage due to the length of time your son maintained an expanded link with her during the battle.” T’Yeht paused. “She will recover, but it is not yet safe to attempt to determine the extent of any brain damage that might have occurred.”

“I understand.”

“She will remain in an induced coma until her intracranial pressure returns to normal, at least twenty-four hours.” T’Yeht moved to the next biobed, where Sol and Malkie had been placed together, Sol flat on his back and far too pale, Malkie on her side, one arm wrapped around his chest and one leg draped across his at the knees. “Solomon requires more advanced care than I am qualified to provide. I have sent word to Healer Sovar and the Lady T’Pau on Vulcan.” The fact that she had allowed (prescribed?) Malkie to lie wrapped around him was telling.

Spock, for his part, was curled up tightly on his biobed in his upset bean baby position, arms and legs tucked tight underneath his body, face in his hands. I-Chaya nuzzled miserably at his unresponsive toes. “I have lightened his sedation somewhat, in hopes that his bond with you might improve his condition. Arrange yourself to your comfort and I will assist.”

Amanda shook her head slightly. “I am…emotionally compromised. I would only make it worse.”

“The child is in pain from broken bonds and transference from everyone here. We are all emotionally compromised. He requires contact with a family member, and Sarek must remain in the healing trance for a minimum of four more hours.” She gestured to the biobed.

Amanda lay down on it, drawing Spock against her so that the top of his head was tucked under her chin. She felt, then, as if she had been holding herself taut against grief all this time so she could function and it all crashed down around her at once. Sobs ripped out of her throat. I’Chaya crept forward so both paws were on the bed along with his head. He worked his way up the bed, dark eyes flicking toward T’Yeht as though daring her to object, until his nose and paws rested at Spock’s bellybutton. Amanda reached out one hand to rest in the soft fur, shaking and ashamed at her loss of control in front of the Healer, but abruptly realized that it was not all her own grief, or even her own shame. “I will assist,” she heard T’Yeht say. 

She nodded her assent, her eyes too bleary with tears to see. The Healer’s calming touch did nothing to quell her grief. _The cause is sufficient_ , she heard, not sure whether or not the words were spoken, nor whether they were for her benefit or her little boy’s. She allowed herself to be guided into light meditation and felt Spock following with the aid of the Healer. Another presence, dark and old and wise, drifted with them. There was a brief sense that Spock’s state was being entrained to Amanda’s, that her experience might guide him to some sense of safety. Unable to do otherwise, she drifted between sleep and wakefulness for a time she could not count, until the Healer returned, pronounced them sufficiently stable, and pushed them both further into sleep.

*

It took four days for the Sun Tzu to return them to Vulcan. Spock had improved, though he and Michael were both quiet and listless, consenting to be fed and read to, but having little initiative. Amanda finished The Phantom Tollbooth and Alice in Wonderland and was starting on Through the Looking Glass, not sure whether the stories themselves or the cadence of her voice was keeping the kids together. Michael had not yet spoken and there were indications of mild neurological damage in the way she moved, too slow and too careful for her age. Spock had backslid on the potty training, so she had him back in diapers for the time being. He projected a dull shame when she changed him, but was not sufficiently motivated to make it to the bathroom consistently and she wasn’t sufficiently motivated to take him there every half hour.

Malkie stayed glued to Sol’s side, save the necessity of ensuring she arose from her stupor at least hourly during the day to replace fluids and keep her blood sugar up. She allowed the doctors and Healers to turn him, clean him, and change his feeding tube, but refused even to turn her back when the healer adjusted his catheter. He responded only to deep pain and telepathic contact, both of those dimly. T’Yeht limited the depth of her melds with him in order to avoid releasing the entity to do damage, preferring to leave such hazardous work to Sovar and T’Pau. Plans to return to Earth had been scuttled by Sol’s need for specialized care and Sarek’s recall to Vulcan to discuss the increasing Klingon threat with the High Council. 

Vulcan, red as Mars if somewhat more hospitable, turned outside the window. Spock stood at the window, watching. “I want to go home,” he said.

“This is home,” she said, willing herself to believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my life. I love hearing from everybody, no matter how old this fic is when you encounter it. I often respond with tidbits and minor spoilers.


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